


Crowley's Choice

by siephilde42



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Don’t copy to another site, Getting Together, Heavy Angst, Ligur lives, M/M, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Suicide, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 05:55:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20271052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siephilde42/pseuds/siephilde42
Summary: Hell has seen through Aziraphale's and Crowley's scheme and gives Crowley a choice.





	Crowley's Choice

**Author's Note:**

> This story is in fact based on a nightmare I had, so it is way angstier than the stuff I normally write and could potentially be triggering (mind the tags). It has a happy ending though.

"So what now? You shoot me with this weapon and discorporate me?", Crowley asked weakly. _So that's it, then. I should have expected them looking through our scam. Well, I did, actually. Only didn't think it would happen so soon. _

"Oh, no. You see, the bullet in this revolver contains some drops of the holy water Michael spilled by accident. Took great pains to collect them. So, if it enters your head, it will _destroy_ you." Hastur smirked.

The other demon shuddered. He did not see any way out of this situation. Not surrounded with a dozen demons. He just hoped they would not denounce Aziraphale to Heaven. After all, Heaven and Hell usually did not communicate, so there might be hope. "So, what are you waiting for?", he asked.

The Duke of Hell grinned and loosened his grip on the weapon, so that it was dangling from his hand, and extended his arm towards Crowley. "Well, you see, we want to give you a choice."

"A... a choice?", he asked cautiously.

"Yes. You can live, if you want."

"I...I can?"

"Yes. If you're willing to do something for Hell."

Crowley felt himself go cold.

"What? What is it you want from me?"

"Just... obliterate _him_", Hastur concluded, and Crowley knew just from the tone of his voice whom he meant with "him".

Paradoxically, the realisation filled Crowley with calm, because there was only one possible answer to Hastur's request.

"Aziraphale? In that case, _no_. I won't do it."

Hastur stepped closer, so that the weapon was now dangling close to Crowley's nose. "Die, then. Take it and do it. If you don't do it, we will go after your precious angel ourselves. You cannot both live."

For a moment, Crowley hesitated, then grabbed the revolver.

_I just wish I had told him how I feel about him_.

***

A white, bright room. Confused, he lifted himself from the floor. "Where... where am I?", he asked. There was no answer. "Is there someone else here? Hello?" He looked down on himself and noticed that he was wearing a white robe. He did not dare to look at his wings. "Is that some sort of joke? Did you give me an ordinary weapon and stick me into an individualised Hell chamber?", he called out.

This time, someone answered. "No, it is not a joke. I do not do jokes, as you should know."

He froze. "_You?_" Very slowly, he turned around towards her.

"Well, obviously. You did not forget my face, did you?"

He had trouble speaking. "No... Of course not. How could I?"

"Good."

"But... what is happening? Why am I here? Did you bring me here?"

"Well, who else would the power have to do it?"

"But... _why_?"

"So that you can see."

"See what?"

"What your death entails", she explained and waved her hand. On the floor, a circular area formed. A transparent area.

"Go and look", she demanded.

Trembling, he stepped closer to the circle. Through the circular surface, below the room, he could see his flat, with his body lying on the throne-like chair.

"Of course, if someone comes into the flat, they will not be able to see us", she clarified.

***

"Crowley, I brought wine. I thought we could..."

When he caught sight of the sitting room, the wine bottles dropped out of his hands and shattered on the stone floor.

"Crowley? ... Good Lord, _no_." He rushed to the chair, pulling Crowley's head back. There was a hole between the eyes, and the eyes themselves were empty. With an instinctive movement Aziraphale closed the demon's eyes, then let go of the body and staggered back some steps. "No... why?" He registered the weapon lying below Crowley's right hand. He was crying without even noticing, and by now he was yelling. "_Why?_" He slumped down on the floor, burying his face into his hands, sobbing.

***

Crowley had staggered back from the circular surface, very pale. "No. Don't show this to me, please. I..."

"It is your doing. Look."

"No, please...", Crowley begged, now sobbing himself.

She did not show an ounce of empathy. "Look", she repeated, her finger pointing at the see-through surface. "_Look."_

Almost blind with tears, he obeyed and approached the surface again.

***

After maybe an hour of uncontrolled crying, the Angel of the East Gate finally got a hold of himself. With a hoarse voice, he whispered "How could you do this? They won't leave you out of Hell again. Not after what we did. They will torture you for eternity." The mourning expression on his face morphed into something else. "Unless..." He took a deep breath. "Unless I get you out of there. ... I will come to you and get you." There was no grief to be seen in his expression now, just determination. He jumped up and ran out of the flat.

***

"What... what? _No. _He cannot go there. They will destroy him. "You need to warn him."

"_I _need to warn him? Maybe you should have left an explaining note or something", she replied in a cold voice.

"But... Let me warn him, please. _Please_."

"No."

***

Aziraphale was angry. Angry at Hell for what they would do to Crowley. Angry at Crowley for killing himself. But most of all, he was angry with himself. _There must have been warning signs. And I missed them. How could I? _He tried to convince himself that it did not matter. Because he would get his friend out of Hell. Somehow. Halfway to his home, he wondered why every human who saw him ran out of the way. When he crossed the street and a car almost crashed when the driver saw him, he finally realised. His wings had popped out, and he was holding something. _My flaming sword. How did it get here? I must have summoned it in my anger. _"Oops", he said and rendered both wings and sword invisible to human view, wiping some memories at the same time. "There. All better", he murmured and made his way to the bookshop.

At the bookshop, he made a sigil, this time for a connection to downstairs, of course. He knew that it was dangerous. That he was unlikely to survive this. That it probably would not help Crowley at all. But he did not care. He could not abandon his best friend.

***

Mind you, Aziraphale had never actually killed anything before (if you do not count the dove which Crowley had had to miracle back). When you had looked at the Angel of the East Gate now, you would hardly have been able to believe this. He was striking and slaying his way through the first defenses, making his way to the inner circles of Hell. _Where are you, Crowley?_, he thought in despair.

***

"You have to get him out of there. Please", Crowley begged again. He was kneeling in front of her. "Please. Have mercy on him."

She seemed to be unmoved by the scene unfolding before their eyes.

"He is one of your angels. You have to save him", he attempted.

"Do I have to, though?", she replied.

***

Aziraphale had finally managed to get through to Beelzebub's circle of hell. The angel, stained with black demon blood, stepped in front of Beelzebub's throne. "Give him back to me", he demanded, "or I will chop your head off too." He was breathing heavily, one wing broken, and one leg was dangling from his body in a funny angle. In some places of his body, the demon blood was mingling with streaks of his own golden blood. But his eyes were glowing with resolution.

In a calm voice, Beelzebub determined "There seems to have been a misunderstanding."

There was chuckling, and Hastur appeared beside the throne. "Some misunderstanding, yes."

Another voice spoke up. "He finally had the appropriate punishment for what he did to me. An eye for an eye."

Aziraphale had never met the demon, so he did not understand at first. "For what he did to you? Who are you?"

"I'm Ligur. I was brought back when reality reset itself, you see. But he killed me with holy water, all the same."

The glow in Aziraphale's eyes flickered. "Are you saying..."

"Yes", the Duke of Hell confirmed, "that's exactly what we are saying. He's _gone_. Forever."

The angel blanched and dropped to the floor. All strength seemed to have left him.

"No", he murmured. "No, it can't be." But his voice sounded defeated.

"Kill him", Beelzebub ordered.

"With pleasure", Ligur replied and snatched the sword away from Aziraphale, transforming the fire into hellfire.

Aziraphale did not even look up when the demon lifted the sword over his head.

***

"Uh, what..." Involuntarily, his hands flew to his neck. He looked around. In the white room, there was only a fleck of colour, and it was red. "Crowley?", he called out in disbelief. "Crowley?" At the third time, it was glee. "Crowley! I thought you had been obliterated." He rushed to his friend.

"I should have been. I...", he could not speak for a moment and then continued, between sobs "I'm sorry. I... should have left a letter to let you know that it contained holy water. So... so sorry."

When Aziraphale spoke again, his voice was angry. "You damned idiot. How could you do this? Don't you know..."

"Know... know what?"

Aziraphale exploded. "What do you think why I was so reluctant to give holy water to you? I was afraid you might use it to kill yourself."

"Oh..."

"Confounded demon...", he broke off and stared at the other figure who had suddenly appeared (in fact re-appeared) in the room. "Who are you?"

"Just someone who wants to bring this mess to a good end", she replied.

"But Hell told me...", Crowley began.

"What Hell wants does not matter", she declared.

Aziraphale stared at her in confusion.

"Hell told him that you cannot both live. They told him to destroy himself or obliterate you. And if he didn't choose, they would kill you themselves, you see."

The angel's eyes widened in disbelief. "_That's_ why you did it? Stupid idiot serpent, how..."

His insults were cut short, and he felt himself falling, seeing Crowley fall beside him as well.

***

They found themselves sitting on "their" bench in St. James Park, gasping and panting.

"How... how did we get here? Was that lady... was that who I think who it was?"

"Yes", the demon replied, still catching his breath.

"Oh, my..."

"Yes, indeed."

"What now?"

"Uh, back to my flat? I'm afraid it needs tidying up."

***

Back at the flat, Crowley told Aziraphale to stay outside. "No need for you to see it again." He stepped into the flat, absentmindedly miracling the wine bottles whole again. His old body was still there, ashen by now. He swallowed hard and moved closer to it. With a feeling of dread, he reached out to it, intending to lift it from the chair and maybe wrap it into plastic to dispose of it. At the touch of his fingertips, though, it crumbled into a cloud of golden flakes which whirled around in the flat for a few moments, before they completely disintegrated. "Well", he murmured, "that takes care of it."

"Angel, you can come in." Aziraphale obliged, his eyes nervously flickering to the chair several times.

Crowley decided to try to lift the mood. "Drink?", he suggested.

The angel shook his head. "No." He did not want to be drunk for this talk. "I cannot believe that you sacrificed yourself to save me."

The demon blinked. "Well... likewise. I... I didn't expect you to go to Hell to get me out."

Aziraphale ignored his interjection. "How could you do this? You shouldn't leave your friends alone like this. Shouldn't leave them like this."

The demon tried to blink back his tears. "I... didn't see that I had any other choice."

"You _always_ have another choice. You could have refused and have talked it over with me."

"And what would you have said?"

"Well, I would have taken the chance. I would have had you to fight alongside me to fend Hell off, wouldn't I?"

"Yes, of course, but... that would have probably have resulted in the death of both of us."

Aziraphale was shouting now. "So? Just so you know, I'd prefer dying next to you to living for all of eternity alone."

Crowley gave him a startled look. "You... you would?"

"Yes. Don't you know..." He broke off and considered the demon whose eyes were glistering with tears. Aziraphale stepped closer to him, taking Crowley's hand into his own.

The demon looked at him in a very bewildered way, but did not pull away.

"...that you mean the world to me?", the angel concluded the sentence.

With a strangled cry, Crowley pulled Aziraphale close and let his head drop on the angel's chest. He did not say it back. Did not need to, because it was obvious.

They stood like this for a long time, until Aziraphale decided that it would not hurt to get more comfortable.

"Uh, how about this drink now?"

Crowley actually laughed. "Certainly. It has been hell of a day, after all."

"Indeed", Aziraphale smiled.

***

They settled down and let the glasses clink. "To the world." "To the world."

**Author's Note:**

> The concept that Aziraphale can summon back his sword when angry was inspired by the story "Apeshiraphale" by LayneyPotPie (https://archiveofourown.org/works/20167087). There are of course several fanfics floating around where Aziraphale attempts to get Crowley out of Hell. One I found particularly impressive was "Bridge Over Troubled Water" by apocahipster (https://archiveofourown.org/works/19994782).


End file.
